


Adoration

by Pragnificent (PragmaticHominid)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Will Graham, First Time Fluff, Hannibal Loves Will, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Top Hannibal, Will Loves Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9810203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PragmaticHominid/pseuds/Pragnificent
Summary: The sound that Will makes when Hannibal’s thumb slides down his groin and brushes the base of his cock is naked in its vulnerability, and Hannibal suspects, closely akin to pain. Withdrawing his touch, Hannibal brings his face level with Will’s, watching him closely.Will’s eyes are closed again. He is breathing heavily, and Hannibal lowers head to the nape of Will’s neck and inhales, reassuring himself by scent that the cause is not fear.He sniffs again - audibly, he supposes, with Will’s ear so close - simply because he wants to. And, wonder of wonders, Will giggles and squirms beneath him.(First time together fluff fic. Will is shy and overwhelmed and inclined to hide his eyes behind his hands. Hannibal is cautious with him.Art by Gintwaka. Story by Pragnificient).





	

 

Hannibal has done no more than part Will’s legs, gentle pressure on the inside his knees to overcome slight shy resistance, and yet Will is already flushed in a tangle of excitement and embarrassment.

Hannibal watches Will’s face as he slides his boxers off, seeing the blush grow even brighter, and when Hannibal’s fingers incidentally brush the instep of Will’s foot his entire body shudders at the slight touch.

“You’re so red, Will,” he says, making no effort to conceal the pleasure in his voice, and Will groans and covers his face with both hands.  

Hannibal himself is nearly entirely clothed, having shed only his suit jacket and shoes. He understands, as he often understands things about Will - not through rational thought but with a sense of intuition on loan from Will himself - that he would feel considerably more vulnerable were Hannibal also naked.

Hannibal plants his own hands on the mattress above Will’s shoulders and leans over him, waiting. A grey-green eye peers at him from behind a forest of fingers, but when Will sees that he’s being watched he squeezes his eyes shut.

Acutely aware of just how much he can get away with, Hannibal does not try to move Will’s hands. “Will,” he says instead, pitching his voice for gentle coaxing, “let me see your face.”

Will’s expression is sheepish. He won’t meet Hannibal’s eyes, gaze shifting in every direction except directly at him, and Hannibal does not try to force it.

The trajectory that his thumb takes as he runs the edge of it from the base of Will’s throat and down and down and down skips quietly over the scar just beneath Will’s navel. He knows with a certainty that any perception that he is taking pleasure in that scar would be enough to end this, to send Will fleeing in nauseous outrage. Perhaps later - a month or a year or ten years from now - it will alright for him to touch that scar and to try to understand the feelings that touching it will provoke, but not now.  

He is not troubled by the idea of waiting. 

Now Will struggles not to squirm under Hannibal’s touch. His fists, tangled in the sheets by his sides, open up and flutter like snared birds, wanting to fly back to his face but caught by Hannibal’s request. The sound that Will makes when Hannibal’s thumb slides down his groin and brushes the base of his cock is naked in its vulnerability, and Hannibal suspects, closely akin to pain.

Withdrawing his touch, he brings his face level with Will’s again, watching him closely.

Will’s eyes are closed again. He is breathing heavily, and Hannibal lowers head to the nape of Will’s neck and inhales, reassuring himself by scent that the cause is not fear.

He sniffs again - audibly, he supposes, with Will’s ear so close - simply because he wants to. And, wonder of wonders, Will giggles and squirms beneath him.  

Will is, at least, able to look at Hannibal now, though the blush is as bright as it’s ever been. Hannibal knows that it is his own smile, reflected back at him, that sits so comfortably on Will’s face.

“Should I slow down?” Hannibal asks, though really, he has done hardly anything at all yet.

“No.”

“No?” Hannibal repeats, cautious.

“Keep going,” Will says. “Please,” and the note of genuinely pleading, intertwining with desire, is a new cause for wonderment.

Hannibal tarries with that sense of longing, wanting to see what will happen if he draws it out. “You must really want me,” he observes. He meant for his voice to sound sly, or smug, or something to that effect, but even in his own ears it has a ring that’s closer to a kind of awe.

  
Will snorts. “Don’t get cocky,” he says, and Hannibal rests his forehead against Will’s clavicle and laughs, almost silently, knowing that Will can feel the laughter in the rhythm of hot breath against skin.

“Shut up,” Will says, not really angry. “I just meant that I’ve... I've sort of got a hair trigger, you know?”

“Darling Will, everything touches you so profoundly," Hannibal breathes. "You’re a blessing,” and as he says this he shifts himself downward and finds Will’s nipple. He nuzzles it, feels it stiffen under his touch, feels Will begin to writhe beneath him when he takes it in his mouth.

Moving by touch, Hannibal reaches between Will’s legs and finds his cock. Will begins almost at once to cry out - a string of curses, exultations, Hannibal’s name again and again - but there is nothing in it that sounds like “stop” or “no” so he holds it in his hand and strokes it while his mouth still worries at the nipple, and Will’s hands find his shoulders and cling, fingers clawing at him through his linen shirt.

In the morning, Hannibal will have small crescent moon welts where Will’s fingers grasped him, and he will be nearly immeasurably pleased with these, will spend long stretches of time looking at them in the mirror and feeling powerful and confident in his ability not only to hold Will close to himself without doing him any sort of irreparable harm, but to please him as well.     

When Hannibal closes his teeth over Will’s nipple, applying just the slightest little bit of pressure, Will drapes his right arm over his eyes. Hannibal holds the nipple between his teeth and runs his tongue over it, and for perhaps three seconds Will’s entire body goes rigid, from his curling toes to his straining neck. Then, with a shudder, he comes.

Astonishing, how easy it was. 

Hannibal lays his ear against Will’s chest, listening to his pounding heart and ragged breathing. “I’ve got you,” he says, unsure of what animates his own words and distantly mystified by them. “It’s alright.”

When Will doesn’t answer, Hannibal begins to worry that he is wrong - that there is something that's not all right.

He shifts to his knees so he can look up at Will, sees that now both his hands are spread over his reddened face, fingers tangled. The blushing - the hidden eyes - are no longer endearingly coy. He feels Will’s sense of mortification as a weight in his own belly.

A narrow length of Will’s forehead is visible above the outstretched fingers, and Hannibal reaches up and brushes the hair back from it, runs his fingers through Will’s curls.

It would not help to tell Will not to be embarrassed - acknowledging it would only make the situation more difficult.

“Let me kiss you, Will,” he says instead. “Please.”

Will is slow to let his hands fall away, but when their lips meet he is fierce, and Hannibal understands almost at once that it was not simply embarrassment at the ready and overeager way his body responded to Hannibal’s touch, but also shame at what he wanted to do with Hannibal in return that drove him to hide behind his own hands.  

Will’s teeth scrape against Hannibal’s lower lip, catching it and holding it and biting down hard. The taste of oxidation is sharp on Hannibal’s tongue. Will’s fingers tangle in his hair, and when Hannibal tries to slide away they pull, yanking him back into position.  

By the time Will lets him go, Hannibal is the one who is panting. He can feel a thin line of blood dripping from his torn lip. His tongue darts out and catches it before it can run down his chin, savoring the taste.  

Will’s face is caught between a snarl and a defiantly self-satisfied smile, and Hannibal can see a faint sheen of blood on his teeth. He savors that, too.

He finds himself suddenly - ravenously - on the edge of his own control, all plans to draw this out falling unmourned to the wayside.

He does not precisely fumble with his belt buckle and fly, though he comes as close to that indignity as he ever has. The condoms and lube are convenient on the bedside table, and he reaches for them with hands that are not entirely steady.  

Will hisses through his teeth when Hannibal enters him, makes the almost-pain sound that comes with being suddenly and entirely overwhelmed, and Hannibal forces himself to pause.

“Shall I stop, Will?”

“No, damnit. Go harder.”

So he does. He is almost entirely silent, and Will is very loud, but by the time Hannibal comes they are both breathless and ragged.

He lays down on his side next to Will, tugs gently at his shoulder until he rolls over to face Hannibal. Will tries to meet Hannibal’s eyes, but his gaze falters, flickers away. Ashamed, once again.

Will is looking into the space over Hannibal’s shoulder when he asks, “Was that okay? All of it, I mean - I didn’t… do anything wrong, did I?”

Hannibal reaches out to brush the hair from over Will's eyes. “I adore you without reservation,” he says, and leans in to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> The line "taste of oxidation" is taken from the song "Body and Blood," by Clipping.
> 
> Visit on tumblr at Mindyoursugarlevels and Pragneto.


End file.
